by John Pirillo
Some of her Midnight Angel friends were starting to actually go as high as the calves of their legs, but the constables when they saw that usually hauled them in for indecent exposure. The public was open minded to new social trends, but not that open minded.
She had to smile at that, that she could be hauled to jail for showing a bit of her calve, but not for tugging at an errant husband to make a coin.
She listened as the MidBells rang from the Tower of Saint Merlin. It was always on time. Even at this distance it rang loud and clear. And she had to smile, because Merlin must be turning over in his crystal cave knowing that a church had been named after him. He was never one to like them, insisting that man should find the Divine within himself and not look for it in a cold, hard structure.
She didn’t know about such things. She usually didn’t have much time to think of such lofty topics. Nor was she wont to. Her mind usually went no further than where her rent would come from and if she would have enough left over for food and to help her elderly parents. At forty something they were both showing signs of aging that came with those who had little time left on this earth.
She had heard that modern doctors were coming up with wondrous new methods for prolonging life, but that seemed to be relegated strictly to the rich at this point in time.
She sighed. Searched around her, but saw no one. Just the empty street in both directions. It was quite late. Evidently the Captain had found an opportunity more in tune with his tastes than a roll with her. She sighed again unhappily, but didn’t take it personally; she was used to rejection by now. Her parents had thrown her out on the streets to fend for herself when she was ten.
She had succeeded, but it had cost her much that she had grown up to believe in. Too much.
She would wait a few more minutes in case he had been delayed for some reason, then she must begin walking the dock. She had to get some kind of funds before the night was out, or her parents would starve.
A flash of light to her right caught her attention.
She looked in that direction.
Nothing but shuttered shops, sleeping flats with curtains closed and old street lights, not powered by the new electricity that barely lit up more than a yard or so about them. London was the hub of most of the new technological advances, not towns like Leeds, which were so far from the center of it all.
“Hello!” She muttered as a second flash of light caught her attention to her right.
She could swear it had a tinge of red to it. Was something on fire?
She turned to look, but there was nothing but darkness there as well.
Perhaps she had spent enough time in this older, darker section and it was time to move on to the docks once more. At least she would feel safer with the sailors constantly tramping by with a bottle in their hand or a fellow Midnight Angel.
She moved to go that direction when a third flash of light, even brighter than the last two froze her mid-step. It had been directly behind her.
She turned about swiftly, prepared to defend herself as if someone was about to attack her. She had a very sharp blade shoved up her right sleeve, which she let spring down into her right hand.
“Captain. Is that you?” She asked.
She spun about, ready to plunge her knife into anyone intent on harming her, but then froze for a moment. It was him. But why did he just stand there. Why did his eyes seem so filled with anger and hatred?
Then what semblance of humanity he had carried fell away and she saw his true form. It wasn’t human. It was a vision straight from hell.
Her right hand flashed out to stab at the creature and then she screamed as she was enveloped in a bright red flame of energies.
Chapter Eight: Death Again
Holmes tramped about Miller Street, measuring his steps carefully as he did so, his eyes on the pavement and the curbs and the walkways, which were covered with filth. The moist air kept dirt from blowing away and other kinds of debris held to the pavement like glue to a piece of paper.
Watson was kneeling over a man, Captain Morgan Trewicket. Watson knew the name because the very nervous constable who had found the body had seen the man leave his vessel earlier that night.
“I don’t know how he ended up here, Doctor,” the constable told him, as he fretted nervously from one foot to the other, as if it were freezing cold, when in fact it was merely cold.
“He appears to have lost quite a bit of weight,” Watson noted. He touched the stomach of the man with a surgical glove and the stomach deflated as if he had popped a balloon.
“Peculiar. Holmes!” He called.
Holmes came back from the sidewalk where he had been examining a footprint and kneeled besides Watson. “What do we have, Watson?”
“I have to admit this is singularly unique for a victim of the Hyde,” Watson sighed. “But there can be no doubt it was that creature who has done this, but why in this manner, when in the past there is usually nothing left of the victim but their clothing, I don’t know.”
Holmes examined the clothing and the dried up husk of the man within them.
“I agree. Same as the young woman who attacked us on the rooftop.”
“But different yet again. Look at this, will you?” Watson urged.
Watson pried open the man’s lips. “See here, all the teeth are missing.”
He gently pulled away the Captain’s shirt from his chest and pressed against where the collar bone should have been and it went inwards as if nothing were there.
“All the bones are missing?” Holmes asked.
“I would say so,” Watson sighed unhappily.
He glanced at Holmes. “If Hyde has done this, then he is no longer the monster we knew from before.”
“He already wasn’t, Watson.”
“Yes, but this is significantly different from the last two victims. They still had bones.”
“Ah,” Holmes said. “But of course you are right, Watson. I hadn’t read that part of your reports.”
Watson wiped at his eyes. “I imagine we’ve both missed more than that fact.”
Holmes nodded. “And that is not a good thing.”
“No, it is not,” Watson replied, getting to his feet.
He shut his black medical bag and hefted it, then turned to the constable. “The Inspector should arrive here in the morning some time. Make sure that you let him know we were here; he’ll be wanting a full report.”
The constable saluted Watson, and then blushed. “Yes, sorry, I will Doctor Watson. Thank you!”
The constable nodded and three other constables came running up with a stretcher to put the body on.
Holmes turned to his friend, Watson as the men took the body away. “I’d like to spend a bit more time here if you don’t mind?”
Watson nodded, and then yawned. “Jules and Wells have nice comfortable bunks. I’ll sleep over in the Master of the World while we wait for you. God knows their huge flying vehicle is quite capable of allowing more than one man a good night’s sleep there. So I alone should manage quite nicely, thank you. Good night, Holmes.”
“Good night, Watson.”
Holmes went back to the sidewalk where he had spotted the woman’s footprints and began following them on the murky walkway. Sometimes they were quite clear to see and sometimes not. He was thankful that the weather hadn’t turned or the prints would’ve been washed away. Now, with little or no foot traffic, there were no other prints to obscure them.
He had to wonder though why the Captain had been stabbed repeatedly before he had been consumed by Hyde. Or was it the other way around? He puzzled over the knife wounds as he followed the foot prints into an alley that shortcut to the docks.
Chapter Nine: Redemption and Resurrection
Watson stepped up the ramp into the mighty Master of the World, the very swift and unique flying craft that had been constructed by Jules Verne and H.G. Wells. Jules leaned against the entrance bulkhead grinning.
“A good night, Doctor?”
“Not at all, I am bone tired and heart sick,” he replied with a grunt for emphasis.
Jules followed Watson into the ship.
They walked into the narrow corridor that swept back to the crew quarters. “And what now?”
“We wait for the others to arrive,” Watson said decisively. He yawned. “And God willing, I get a few miserable hours of sleep.”
He stopped at the door to his right and opened it. Four bunks were inside. Two low. Two high. He turned to Jules. “I suggest you and Wells rest as best you can too, tomorrow is going to be a long day.”
Watson entered the room and shut the door.
Jules turned about and faced Wells who had dropped from the second level where the cockpit was and joined them without Watson seeing him.
“You heard, Mon Ami?” Jules asked.
Wells nodded. “He won’t feel a thing. I will fly us as gentle as a mother holding her baby.”
“Holmes was clever not to let Watson know we would be flying back to bring the others.”
“He’s too tired to think about it,” Jules informed his friend. “And quite frankly, his heart is in pain.”
Wells stopped to look into his friend’s face. “This time we must make certain that that monster is incapable of ever returning again…forever!”
Jules shrugged his shoulders. “At this point in time, I’ll just be happy to know it is stopped at least for some time.”
Wells clapped a friendly had on Jules shoulder. “Spoken like a veteran time traveler, my friend.”
Jules smiled.
Wells began climbing back up to the cockpit. When he didn’t hear Jules behind him, he turned to look.
“I forgot to dog the hatch,” Jules told his friend as he walked off.
He vanished for several moments, then came back and began climbing the ladder to the second level after Wells.
Chapter Ten: The Madness Strikes
Holmes reached the docks and then stopped. The trail ended here. He looked to his left and then his right. But nothing out of the unusual caught his attention. Then something bothered him in the back of his mind. As he had been trailing the monster he had seen what appeared to be two sets of tracks and not one for several yards, but then the one had headed into a dead end alley, while the other had struck out for the docks.
He had assumed the one heading for the docks was the right one, because the footprints remained the correct size and proportion, but something nagged at his mind from that point on.
He hurriedly turned about and ran back the way he had come.
He reached the blind alley and into it.
He reached the wall and looked down. The prints were not there. He hurriedly began backing up, using a match to light his way.
He reached a doorway. The prints stopped there.
He tried the door.
It popped open easily.
He withdrew his weapon and entered.
A man’s scream!
He dashed through the back room he was in through a narrow hallway, where several drunken sailors were passed out on the floor.
The scream came again. Louder.
Holmes reached the lobby of what had to be a hotel and looked out.
The Night Clerk was held in the clutches of a petite woman. Judging from her attire, a Night Angel. She held him so high in the air; his feet could not touch the floor. He shrieked in pain and fear.
Snap!
His eyes froze open and then she tossed him aside. He tumbled to the floor at the feet of Holmes.
Holmes raised his weapon. “Do not move or I shall fire!”
“I am Hyde!” The Night Angel uttered.
“Which one?” Holmes asked.
Her face turned demonic looking, all the beauty drained and the scabrous hideous face of Hyde peered out from it. “Does it matter?” It asked.
“You have grown more intelligent,” Holmes stated.
“Yes. And more clever as well,” the Hyde replied.
He didn’t move; but Holmes took no chances. He kept his weapon leveled at the woman’s heart.
“You can die, Hyde!”
The monster laughed. “I can never die. I am pure energy.”
“Oh, even pure energy can die,” Holmes laughed drily.
The Hyde gave Holmes a surprised look and then it rushed him.
Holmes fired his weapon over and over.
The lobby was engulfed with red flames and energies.
Chapter Eleven: The Master of the World
Jules and Wells sighed with relief when London’s bright night lights came into view from the cockpit.
“Watson is not going to like this one bit,” Jules stated.
Wells laughed.
“The old grumbly bear must eat his scones and be content,” Wells replied.
“Who’s a grumbly bear?” Watson asked from behind them.
They both turned to look.
Jules gave Watson a surprised look. “How can you be here? I checked on you just a minute ago. You were snoring loudly on your bunk.”
Watson’s eyes widened and he dashed back the way he had come.
Jules and Wells set the vessel for automatic and followed at a run.
Watson dropped down the ladder to the first floor and ran up the narrow corridor towards the crew quarters he had rested in for a time.
He threw the door open.
The room was empty.
Jules and Wells came up beside him and peered inside.
Jules pointed to the bunk on the right. “There. You had been sleeping right there.”
Watson turned around. “Mister Verne, I did not rest on that bunk, but on the left one.”
“Mon Dieu!” Jules cried out.
At that same moment the vessel made a jerking movement and shuddered violently.
“Someone has breached the hull!” Jules cried out.
“Quickly!” Wells hollered.
Wells and Jules gave Watson a horrified look and dashed to the back of the ship, followed by Watson, who had his weapon at the ready.
The man that Jules had seen and believed to be Watson stood in the hatchway, the air tearing at him, but none of his clothing moved a bit, not even his hair.
“Do not move!” Watson ordered, waving his weapon at the man.
“You don’t scare me with that toy,” the man replied.
“Who are you?” Jules demanded, his face red with anger. He stalked towards the man. Wells pulled him back.
“No Jules, don’t!”
The man laughed and then said, “Fools!”
“Who are you?” Watson demanded, stepping closer, his pistol ready to fire.
“I am Hyde!”
The man’s eyes lit up a brilliant red the same time as Watson fired.
The man fell from the hatchway entrance and plunged from view.
Chapter Twelve: 221B Baker Street
Holmes sat at the table playing chess with Watson. Jules and Wells came into the room carrying trays of food and drink, with Mrs. Hudson following with a steaming plate of fresh scones.
Watson’s face lit up. “Ah, dinner!”
He reached for a scone as Mrs. Hudson set them down. She slapped his hand. “Oh no you don’t!”
Watson gave her a hurt look. She laughed, pinched his cheek, then proceeded to give him a plate and heap it with fresh baked chicken, potatoes and broccoli. He looked at the broccoli. “I hate broccoli.”
She gave him another pinch. “Good for potty, grumbly bear!”
He scowled at her a moment, then barked with laughter.
Jules and Wells came to the table. Jules and Wells both reached for the chair to help Mrs. Hudson sit. She did so.
She looked over at Watson as he was stuffing his mouth.
“At least someone here has manners.”
Watson merely smiled and kept on eating, but Jules chuckled. “I’m sure Watson is quite faint with hunger. We forgot to bring any food with us on the Master of the World.”
Mrs.
Hudson gave Watson an apologetic look. “I am so sorry, John, I didn’t know.”
He mumbled with a mouthful of food, “No apologies needed, my dear.”
“That’s a long time to go without food,” she remarked sympathetically.
Holmes smiled.
“What’s so funny, Holmes?” She demanded.
“He was on the ship no more than a half hour.”
Mrs. Hudson glared at Watson, “John!”
He grinned.
She shook her head and despite her anger at him broke into a smile.
Jules and Wells sat down and served themselves from the food on the table.
“So, Holmes, what happened to the woman you were pursuing?”
“That woman is no more. Nor the Hyde that had consumed her.”
Watson almost choked. “Did you just say that Hyde?”
“I did, Watson,” Holmes replied, buttering a piece of bread. “It explains a lot about what’s been happening.”
“How so?” Wells asked. “Hyde is just one being; not several.”
“Was…just one being,” Holmes corrected.
Jules raised an eyebrow questioningly.
Watson ignored the conversation. He was more intent on filling his stomach than intellectualizing what they had been experiencing.
“You see,” Holmes explained. “When I was in India I learned something that has served me well for some years since.”
“What was that, Sherlock?” Mrs. Hudson asked, lowering her tea cup.
“That everything is connected. That there is not just one explanation and that anything is possible,” he explained. He smiled. “And that should be obvious, just by my own presence here alone.”
That got Watson’s attention. “Indeed. Had you not been able to cross over from that parallel, parallel…”
“Universe,” Holmes finished for him.
“Yes, that thing. Had you not, then this world would be a lot less for it.”